Wendell Berry, "The Thief"

[ladymac.livejournal.com]

I think of us lying asleep,
eyes and hands filled with the dark,
when the arm of the night
entered, reaching into the pockets
of our empty clothes. We slept
in the element of that power,
innocent of it, preserved from it
not even by our wish.
As though not born, we were carried
beyond an imminence we did not
waken to, as passively as stars
are carried eyond their spent
shining--our eyes granted to the light
again, by what chance or price
we do not even know.

Comments

[bardcat.livejournal.com]

I love Wendell Berry.